Spawn, Respawn
by DEUTALiA
Summary: The Bad Touch Trio take turns impregnating one another . . . FAG - Spain/Prussia/France, mpreg . . . (HIATUS)


**A/N~ Okay, this is . . . well I'm not sure what this is. Let's use that peeling, worn-out "I was bored" muse (because it's neither a complete lie or the truth). So anyway, here's some Sprance lovin' (as I've recently dubbed it playfully and unsurely, since I'm not sure what the exact name for the BTT tri-lationship is). There are no definite tops in this by the way. Let's face it; they're all individually too badass for either of them to strictly bottom. That's just my general opinion though.**

**I'm too awesome for disclaimers.**

Although it probably goes without saying, Antonio is most accurately probably the most outgoing of the three of them. Not in the frequently snarky way Gilbert is so widespread about, just genuinely confident. Honestly sometimes it's still hard for him to believe how fast the other two adjusted to it with their more than often flirtatious behavior and occasional pedophiliac gestures. You'd think they'd be at his neck every minute to maintain their own calm and collective appearance, but they didn't seem to mind at all. The attribute seems to have played against him a mere fifteen minutes ago though, which is why he and Francis have been sharing the simple loveseat in the hotel he'd planned ahead earlier in the day to rent out for about ten minutes more.

See, because, here's the thing - and oh yes, this shit will be lengthy - at some point the three of them had come to some unofficial decision that, hell, they _were_ grown men, and sex at least had definite value for all of them, so now they sleep together. All three of them. Because honestly, who could take much more of the cock-blocking refusal from others and false accusations of being perverted. It's just sex. Reasonably, neither of them were ever really pining for romance - Francis included. Anyway, the tri-lationship has been ongoing for years now; supporting the current situation. It only seemed ideal - at least according to an apparently very persuasive rant from Francis - that if they're going to be sleeping together, there'd be absolutely no harm in a natural rendezvous (the typical and exact word he'd used explaining the idea) from time to time, where they'd take turns visiting one another's origin whenever they had the free time all to themselves. Last time they were in some fancy city in France, with a name Francis would be subject to remind he and Gilbert of again give or take a week or two from now (because French words are fucking hard to pronounce, let alone remember). They arrived in Madrid a little over sixteen hours ago; obviously Antonio's turn in the matter. Heh, gee, that's a nice ass girth, eh?

"Not to be rude,"

Oh, yeah, the freeze frame. Right.

"What?"

"It's only getting later, _mon ami_. Whatever you 'ave to tell me... well, 'ow important is it?"

As if the guilt couldn't be any more potent for him waking Francis this late at night to begin with. Actually, it was a little more than late, and Francis (by his standards) did require the necessary regeneration as he so fondly put it every now and then. This was probably pushing it. More than pushing. He could always bring this up tomorrow. Or . . . fuck, some other time. It really wasn't _that_ prominent he get an answer _now_.

But then there was the hard place. He'd wasted enough time as it is, and just backing out on the whole thing after going through the trouble to wake the Frenchman in the first place would be too much of a dick move. So, to be blunt,

"I have . . . an idea. I think."

"I am listening."

"It's . . . a bit . . ."

Tomorrow. Yes. He could do this all tomorrow. It'd be easier anyway.

"A bit . . ?"

". . . A bit . . . strange."

_Por el amor de Dios_, this should not be this hard! Tomorrow. Tomorrow. There's always some other time. _Any_ other time. Perhaps he could just say it; fast and low. There's no way Francis would hear.

". . . Oh-ho, _Cher Dieu_, it's so late. I've become a madman wiz zis insufficient amount of sleep, you understand. It almost sounded like you said you wanted to impregnate Gilbert. Hm. Such a demented 'sing to declare- why are you looking zat way? . . . . . . I do not believe it. You are serious . . . aren't you?"

**I hope no one gets confused with the dialect in this. To me it shouldn't seem too complex differentiating between who's speaking between Francis and Antonio (but then again I wrote it). I hope I'm not abusing the native inputs too much either - even if small bits are unavoidable to insert sometimes. **

**So what the hell is gonna happen? .-. I know the accents still suck, by the way. I'm working on it, I swear. **

**Hetabulary~**

(French) _Mon ami - My friend_

(French) _Cher Dieu - Dear God_

(Spanish) _Por el amor de Dios - For the love of God_


End file.
